Everything I Never Got To Say
by GeniaTheParadox
Summary: Angsty post-Reichenbach ficlet. John writes a letter to Sherlock, confessing everything he never had a chance to say.


The very first Reichenbach fic that I started about 4000 years ago still isn't even a little bit finished, so here's an angsty little ficlet to make you all cry in the meantime.

Chuck some reviews at me and junk.

And don't own anything. Obviously.

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**Everything I Never Got To Say**

It plagues me every second of every day, all the things that I never got a chance to say to you. Not that I would have been able to say any of this to you out loud anyway. I'm surprised you didn't read it in my face ages ago. Maybe you did. Maybe you already knew everything I'm about to say. But I need to say all this. I just have to get this all off my chest, even if I'm just writing it down. And anyway, my therapist says it's good to get all of this out of my system.

I have to be honest with you, Sherlock. I love you. I'm almost certain that I always have, since that very first case, since the first time you showed off your deducing talents and was surprised that I was impressed rather than annoyed. I know you told me that you're a fraud and all of it was just a trick, but I'm never going to believe that. I know it wasn't a lie, and nothing with convince me otherwise. I will always believe in you, Sherlock, whether you like it or not.

I'm sure you remember that first stack out at Angelo's, when you thought I was asking you out. The moment you started letting me down gently I gave up on hoping we could ever be more than friends and flatmates. But I couldn't switch off all those damn feelings. No matter how much you infuriated me – and trust me, Sherlock, that was the majority of the time – everyday I just fell more and more in love with you, in spite of myself. If you knew how I felt all along than I appreciate you not saying anything. It shows a surprising amount of sensitivity on your part.

I wish I could have just been up front about this when I had the chance but, to be honest, I was scared. It's stupid, I know. All the frightening and dangerous situations I've been in throughout my life, and yet it's _that_ that scared me the most. I was afraid of the rejection, scared that I might ruin what we had. Love wasn't your area, after all. It was just transport. You were married to the work. Not telling you was my way of sparing myself from the pain, but now that you're gone it all just hurts even more.

I see you everywhere, in every handsome face. Sometimes it's like I can feel you watching me, your piercing eyes reading me like a book. But I know it can't be you. I guess a part of me just refuses to accept that you've gone for good and never coming back. But I miss you so much, Sherlock, so much that it's like a physical pain right in my chest. Maybe that's why I keep seeing you everywhere. Sometimes when I look up I see you clear as day sitting in your armchair, still and thinking. And in the middle of the night when I just can't sleep I can hear you playing your violin, so clear that for a second I think it must really be you. But it's not you. It's never you.

Every time I close my eyes I see you fall. I hear your voice again, telling me you're a fraud, leaving your note. I swear, being shot in the shoulder in Afghanistan hurt less than the pain I felt when I watched you fall. It was like a part of me fell too. A part of me died when you did, Sherlock.

And believe me, there have been times during the past three years, more times than I can count, where I just wanted it to be over. I wanted to climb up to the roof of St. Bart's and follow you. I wanted to end all this agony. But I couldn't. Even though things are hard – even though I'm seeing my therapist and even had to start using my cane again – even though I've never felt so lonely, I haven't had the heart to take the easy way out. Somehow I know you'd be disappointed in me if I did. Not the brave John Watson you know. So I'll stay strong and get through this grief, and I'll never stop believing in you. I'll always love you, Sherlock Holmes. And no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie.

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Hope I didn't depress you all too much, Humble Readers.

xxx


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